


happiness, embodied

by ellamillerali



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Anxiety, Flashbacks, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 02:29:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19862023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellamillerali/pseuds/ellamillerali
Summary: Some days are too much for Dan. But Phil is there to make sure he’s safe.





	happiness, embodied

The second Dan lifted his head off the pillow, it was one of those days.

He could feel it. Everything was dull, his mind was filled with cotton, and his stomach and back hurt. One of those days where no matter what you try, your past will come back to haunt you.

He shifted his weight from one side to the other, sliding his arm off Phil and rolling over in the bed.

Dan heaved an internal sigh because these days were the worst. He knew this feeling, the one where he wanted absolutely nothing more than to meld with the shower and scrub himself red and raw because his skin was dirty and crawling and the pain of the hot water would be easier to cope with than _this_.

There were bugs on his skin, and in his head. His head especially.

The bed shifted, and the body beside Dan turned.

Phil was also familiar with these days. He would wake up and Dan would be distant, curled up in a tiny ball, facing the opposite way, and Phil wouldn’t get to touch his bare skin for at least twenty-four hours.

This morning was one of those.

Phil carefully placed a hand on Dan’s shoulder, making sure it wasn’t too much or too little pressure. Dan flinched the smallest bit before finally settling into the touch, and he made a quiet noise of recognition. That noise pretty much meant _yes, I don’t feel well_ and Phil rubbed his thumb over Dan’s arm.

“I’ll make you toast. I know you don't want it, but you have to eat,” Phil said softly, tossing the duvet off himself as he slid out of the bed.

Dan sighed quietly, but he didn’t argue. Phil wouldn’t let him skip breakfast, even though the thought of food right now made his stomach turn.

Dan waited until Phil’s footsteps faded to sit up. The light was blinding, and using the little energy he had, he shut the curtains.

Dan fumbled at his phone, nearly knocking it off the bedside table. It took effort, but in a couple minutes he was comfortably propped up on both his and Phil’s pillows, with various bands screaming familiar lyrics into his ears, semi-successfully drowning out his thoughts.

Dan didn’t hear Phil open the door, and he jumped slightly when the bed suddenly dipped, tearing his headphones off his head.

“Sorry I scared you,” Phil whispered as he set the tray of cereal and milk on the bed.

Dan twirled the cereal spoon in between his fingers. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either.”

Dan gives a sad chuckle. "I know," he whispers.

"There's a difference between knowing and believing something, baby. I just wish you believed it."

It takes Dan an hour to finish his small bowl of cereal, taking a break every five minutes to lean back against the pillows and rest his eyes.

Phil’s on his laptop by now, silently scrolling. Dan grunts a little, and pushes his tray towards Phil. Phil replies with a small, encouraging smile. “Good job,” he assures, setting the bowl and cup on the bedside table.

Fifteen more silent minutes pass, and with every minute another twenty bugs begin to writhe on Dan's body, until he can’t escape and he feels dirty dirty dirty dirty.

He groans.

“I think I need to shower,” he mumbles incoherently into his pillow, blindly tossing blankets off of himself in a frenzy. He swings his legs off the bed, sitting shakily on the edge, the room spinning from the sudden movement.

In record time, Phil’s laptop is shut and discarded, and his hands are on Dan’s shoulders, calming him, stilling him, nudging him to lay back onto the pillows. Reluctantly, Dan lies back and closes his eyes.

Dan can still feel other hands on him, pushing him down, searing into his skin, making red and purple and blue marks, and only a shower, or a few, would rid him of the filth and dirt on his skin.

“You know it's a bad idea for you to shower right now."

“I need one, I need one-”

Phil shakes his head. “You know it doesn't actually help, it never does. You'd only get hurt and then things would be the same, only you'd be in worse pain.”

The first time this happened, Phil had no idea anything bad would happen if Dan showered. But after 45 minutes of Dan being shut in the bathroom, Phil was too worried and walked in.

The water was freezing, but Dan hadn’t even seemed to notice. He was in too much pain- mentally, physically, both. Phil had to stifle a scream at the sight of Dan’s skin bleeding, scrubbed raw with a washrag, patches of red on his torso and legs. Phil helped him out as best he could without making contact with Dan’s skin, put ointment and bandages on the scrapes, and got Dan into bed.

Phil is not going to make that mistake ever again.

Dan eventually slips into a distressed sleep, tossing and turning. His blankets are discarded because they feel like walls, encasing him, holding him in. He could never sleep like that.

Phil leaves Dan’s side while he naps, tidying the house, taking out the trash, doing the dishes.

Although these days hurt Dan the most, on some level they hurt Phil as well. Usually, to keep from having a total nervous breakdown, he focuses on the solid things. Cleaning. Tidying. Things that are definite. An air of control in an unpredictable world.

He abandons the laundry when Dan screams, and bolts up the stairs to calm him. It’s inevitable, and Phil hates it. On these days, Dan can’t sleep without a nightmare.

Dan is breathing hard, beads of sweat on his forehead, cowering with his pillow to his chest. Phil sits next to him, drawing patterns on his back with a finger, brows furrowed with worry and sadness.

Dan takes a deep breath.

“Phil, I- this- I hate this. I hate it. It’s so, so stupid. This is done. Done, over with, gone, done. Why am I still like this? It’s been what, about a year? I hate every last bit of this. Sure, I was hurt, things happened to me, but I should be over it. I’m so- it’s so- I just can’t stand this.”

Phil nods, chewing his bottom lip in concern. He whispers affirmations, but nothing he can say will be news to Dan. There isn’t anything Phil can do or say that hasn't already been done or said. Dan knows.

So Phil pulls his sleeves down over his hands and wraps his arms around Dan. They fall back onto the pillows, and Phil only lets go when he hears Dan’s breathing become slower, more rhythmic. He’s asleep, Phil decides.

Laying back on the bed, Phil’s mind wanders- despite his efforts to not think about it- back to the day.

_3 AM. Dan had said he would be out late, and it wasn’t really something to worry about._

_It was a quiet night, so Phil jumped when he heard someone pounding on the door._

_It’s probably Dan, but he has keys, why would he -_

_“PHIL- I-”_

_Everything is quite blurry after this point._

_-Dan at the door in a shirt and his boxers, blood blood blood, crying, falling into Phil’s arms, and then next thing he knows there are ambulances and paramedics and the scarily clean smell of hospital corridors and the rape kit, oh, god, it's apparently so invasive and Dan is still in tears and Phil is so so so sick to his stomach-_

Phil shakes his head, refusing to think of anything else. Dan never told Phil exactly what had really happened to him that night, but he knows it was horrifying and traumatic and Phil wishes they would die and die and die-

Dan stirs slightly under Phil’s arms, rolling over to face Phil.

Phil is lightly crying now, despite his efforts to not, because he can’t imagine the pain Dan is in and no one deserves that kind of pain.

Ever.

Phil stares at his boyfriend, and he wipes his tears away, because Dan wouldn’t want Phil crying over him.

Dan’s eyes open.

“Oh, hey,” Phil smiles at him. “Have you been awake this whole time?”

“I may have been spying on you a little.”

“Did you see, um-”

“Yeah.”

Phil shifts uncomfortably. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re allowed to be sad for me. I do wish you weren’t, though,” Dan admits softly, planting a kiss on Phil’s hand absentmindedly.

“Are you feeling any better?” Phil asks quickly, changing the subject because he doesn’t like talking about it and he imagines Dan doesn’t like it much either.

“A bit. I'm getting there. I’m... hungry.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Breakfast.”

“Oh my god, Dan! You gotta eat!”

Phil scampers off to make food, and Dan sits there and thinks _this man is mine_ , and he smiles. As long as Phil is there, Dan will eventually be okay.

Phil is Dan’s happiness, embodied.

**Author's Note:**

> hey if ur reading this i love you and you deserve the whole damn world don't let anybody tell u different


End file.
